creatively untitled

Driving Me Crazy
I am a relatively laid-back and patient person. Relatively. Why is it that traffic makes me crazy? I find myself wanting to yell at slow drivers. Sometimes, I find myself ACTUALLY yelling at slow drivers. Sometimes I even applaud them. And while I am, by nature, a sarcastic person, I am not, by nature, a yeller. (Unless you count the ONE TIME I yelled at Kevin when he was emptying the dishwasher. He was about 5 years old. The kids remind me of this story often. Not one of my shining moments as a parent, so I would like to take this opportunity to say to my kids, "Let it go! It was like 10 years ago!") Anyway, sometimes I yell at slow drivers. Yes, I know they can’t hear me. No, it doesn't make me feel better. Kinda makes me feel petty and . . . impatient. If I get behind a slow driver when I turn onto the highway from my house and get stuck behind him until the road becomes a 4-lane, and the little blue-haired lady who is somebody's sweet grandma is driving 10 miles under the speed limit, I am losing a grand total of like 12 seconds on my way to work. Twelve seconds. For this I get impatient??? I’m clearly an idiot.

Batman vs. Dirty Clothes

I’ve been spending WAY too much time (Kevin, that’s “TOO much time”, not “to much time”) contemplating the whole Batman vs. Superman thing. I think I understand why MOST of the men in my life prefer Superman. . . they are jealous of the fact that he can undress anywhere and just leave his clothes scattered around without getting nagged.

Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

Yeah, It's Yea
For all you bloggy, texty people: the word is spelled “Yea” not “Yay”. Yay is not a word. The Grammar Nazi strikes again.

It's a Girl Thing
Why is it pronounced "Guy-necology"? Just wondering . . .

It's Not Just for Football
Monday nights are awesome for one basic reason: clean sheets. I always wash my sheets on Mondays 'cause it's my day off. But there is nothing like crawling into smooth, clean, cool, Bounce-smelling sheets and drifting off to sleep. Especially if the cowboy is working night shift. :o)

my left foot

Copy machines and printers. They make me want to behave in not-so-nice ways. My office printer lies. Every time I command a print job, my lovely HP All-in-One printer/scanner informs me it is out of paper, or that the ink cartridge is stalled. Neither of the above is ever true. So I click “GO” again, and it works like a charm . . . except when it feeds through ALL my paper at once, causing a jam of armageddon proportions.

My computer is also networked to the laser printer in Melissa’s office . . . when it wants to be. On Thursdays it generally takes a break from normal function and prints whatever I command . . . in triplicate. (Must have belonged to the military in a former life.) Anyway, it makes me crazy. Today I tried to print photo collages. It only wanted to print yesterday’s bulletins, even though I cancelled that job three times. Picture Jane Fonda in "9 to 5" in the copy room on her first day of work. Never would print the photo collages.

Then there’s the copy machine. Demon-possession in a mechanical case. It only knows one command: PAPER JAM. But at least it tries to be helpful when it malfunctions. The Xerox E-Studio35 provides endless cartoon drawings of all possible areas where paper can become jammed within the various locations of extractable parts. Flip, flip, pull, slam, click, whack, lock, and it should be back in business, right? Not so easy. After breaking down all of the suggested sections of the machine, plus kicking it twice with my left foot, the paper jam will still remain. And it is not discriminatory - it jams for everyone at church. The funny thing is (apparently because my office is closest in walking distance to this technological monster) everyone assumes I know what’s wrong with it and how to fix it! If they knew my ineptness (or is it ineptitude?) with all things mechanical they wouldn't even bother asking for my assistance. I mean, I still use a hand-crank can opener, for crying out loud! Can somebody just buy me some carbon paper, please?

batman vs. superman

My top ten reasons why Batman is better than Superman:

10: Michael Keaton, George Clooney, Val Kilmer, and Christian Bale...vs. Christopher Reeves? What?

9: Flying car vs. red cape.

8: (For all you green people) Batman uses the resources that he has in his possession to create enough power to save the world. Superman...works at the newspaper...a business that kills thousands of trees every day. Beat that.

7: Batman fights poverty, oppression and the abuse of underground druglords. Superman just repeatedly rescues Lois from her own stupidity...and occassionally he prevents some car accidents. But seriously, he's only had one arch nemisis. How much can you do after you've killed Lex Luther?

6: Alfred. Need I say more...

5: Batman is not an avenger. He chooses to continue in the path his father began, to help the poor and oppressed of his society. When his mother and father were killed, he rose up to restore the society that forced people into the murderous lifestyles they had fallen into. Do we need a lesson in repentance and forgiveness???

4: Batman dresses in black. Like Johnny Cash, and the Men in Black - he makes that look gooooooood. Superman looks like he woke up at the circus.

3: Batman actually has a good disguise. You can't REALLY tell who he is when he has his costume on. Superman just takes his glasses off and puts some more gel in his little curl. Besides, now that there are no more phone booths, what does he do? Run into the nearest AT&T store????

2: Superman isn't really a superhero. He just came from a planet where they apparently had a lot more gravity.

1: Last but not least, HOLY TOLEDO BATMAN! He kicked Arnold's butt. Which means, he could technically take over California...but more importantly, Batman whooped up on Mr. Universe.


Now, the boys in my life all think Superman is the better choice, but they're entitled to be wrong. Besides, Mike is biased toward the Clark Kent/Superman dual persona . . . judge for yourself:

kool and the gang said it best . . .

C-E-L-E-B-R-A-T-E!

This has been a week of celebrations!

Sara's birthday was yesterday, though for Sara a birthday is a week-long event. Twenty-four hours is clearly just not enough time to acknowledge all that is "Sara"!

Greg's birthday was Tuesday, so he and Sara are practically twins (if you ignore the fact that Greg was a high school graduate by the time Sara entered the world!) We celebrated by inducting Greg into pop culture - we bought him an iPod. (The music he listens to, however, keeps him firmly rooted in the last century!)

This coming Sunday is Mother's Day. And while I am not a proponent of Nationally-forced holidays, nor to any event which encourages the wearing of flowers on one's lapel, I'm crazy about my mom and I'm crazy about being a mom, so this alone gives us reason to celebrate. Only I'm cooking for Mother's Day . . . the biggest "eating out" day of the year. But that's why I'm cooking - no long restaurant waits for us!

The biggest celebration of this week was Kacey's college graduation.
Wow. She did it and I'm so proud! She worked part-time her entire four years and kept her GPA in the 3.2something range (though it's a good thing she was only required to take 3 hours of biology!) She earned her bachelors in journalism (just like her mommy!) with minors in Bible and Geek . . . I mean Greek.

Graduation itself was fascinating. Truly. We were able to park within 3 miles of the arena, so the invigorating hike through the muddy construction-laden campus in dress shoes was worth the price of admission. The event began with the introduction of the Class of '58. Then the introduction of the new pharmacy professors. Then the introduction of the faculty. Then the introduction of all the deans. Then the recognition of all the grandparents. And parents. And siblings. And next-door-neighbors. And pets. (And they never once mentioned future in-laws, though Kacey's wonderful ones were there in full force with even the baby in tow!)

Then came the bagpipes . . . always the anticipatory-symbol of great things to come. Next somebody who is supposed to be somebody said something about other somebodies who have gone sometime before and how they need some more financial assistance to build something to honor this someone who used to be somebody. All in all, a riveting speech.

Then (drumroll please), they began announcing the graduates, in alphabetical order by type of degree, Master's first . . . Abigail Aaimes, Allison Abingdon, Abu Abu Abong, (which Greg said in his native Arab-based language translates: "come here, come here, COME HERE!") Andrea Adams, Andrew Adams, Amy Adamson, Bradley Adamson, Andrew "Andy" Andrews in absentia, Charles C. Andrews . . . and since there were only about 500 of them, this part flew by like slugs on a freeway. Finally, and with hightened enthusiasm on the part of the 11 onlookers who came to acknowledge this great milemarker in my daughter's life, her name was called. From our seats in the back of the arena she looked like tinkerbell in mourning, so we solemnly watched her march across the portable stage, shake the hand of somebody who is somebody, receive an empty diploma cover . . . AND she accomplished all this in strappy black heels without tripping over potted ferns and lost tassels even once. Amazing.

I am seriously proud of my baby girl. Check out the video (complete with cheesy midi-file "Pomp and Circumstance" music!) She's so preeeeeety!

alpha male revisited

A new day, a new conquest.


Note:
Kevin is still wearing the same shirt.

happy blogday

My baby is a year old! My blog baby, that is. Posted my “100 things” list on April 28, 2007. So, here’s what has transpired in the past 366 days:

Kevin starred in “Wilma’s Revenge” at Market House Theatre. (He played the annoying brother - wasn’t exactly a dramatic stretch for him.)

The cowboy began his post-retirement career, so, if you count his pension, Kacey’s job at the library, Kevin’s lawn-mowing endeavors, and, of course, my jobs, we became a sextuple-income family.

I was privileged to be part of Titus M.’s precious entrance into this big world,
during which time his laboring mother told me, “I hate you. I mean it. This is not funny.”

I became a literature/writing teacher for the high school and middle school co-op, and re-read several great classics like “To Kill a Mockingbird” and “Silas Marner”.

I became a coffee drinker. Okay, a warm-milk-with-coffee-in-it drinker, but still . . .

I got a new purse.

We got to "vacation" in an aluminum shoebox while the cowboy competed in the Extreme Mustang Makeover in the big city of Fort Worth.

I shaved Mike’s neck - not once, but twice. (Quite possibly the most exciting events
of my entire year.)

Nathan fell in love with my daughter, and, I’m very happy to say, vice-versa.

Kevin resumed drum & guitar lessons.

I relinquished my Amish status and got a cell phone.

I learned to love dogs. Well . . . maybe that's a stretch. I learned to tolerate Topaz the wonder pooch and I even find it endearing that he brings me his toy so I will play with him when I go to "his house".

Kacey graduates next Saturday - no more tuition!!! (As I'm sure Kevin will receive a full scholarship for academics . . . or Guitar Hero.)

I discovered sushi. Which, I assume, was much like the discovery of oil: disgusting at first, but upon further investigation, absolutely essential to the quality of my life.

We are planning a wedding for the end of the summer.


You know, they say if you don't write these things down, you will forget. Maybe I should keep a journal . . .

i am both addicting and hilarious . . . you should read my blog

Over the pasts few months I have been made aware that at least 30 people I know read my blog on a semi-regular, if not regular, basis. This is both flattering and humbling, and leads me to ask one question, “Don’t you people have a life?”

It’s not like mine is all that intriguing. Come on. I blog about my latest purse, my lack of sleep, and my text conversations with Sara.
Truly, my life is way less than fascinating. I mean, this week’s highlight was a short-lived, Thursday-morning fantasy when Matt Lauer wore glasses on the Today Show. . .

But, in all honesty, I want you to read my blog. I do. I really do. Why else would I spend so much time exaggerating, finding new ways to elevate sarcasm, quoting people out of context, and taking pictures of Mike? (Who, apparently, is too ashamed to admit it he reads my blog, since he never comments.) Because I’m a dedicated blogger, doggone it! Just read your reviews and see for yourself:

Susan said... You write so beautifully

Lesli said... I love you & I love hearing your stories.

thruchildeyes said... Okay, you didn't warn me this was a tear jerker! Where are the tissues?

Sandy said . . . “we are so much alike. But you're funnier...”

thruchildeyes said... Haha! You're hilarious. Reading your blog is quite stress-relieving.

Janjanmom said... For the record, I've enjoyed the chapters of your thousand-chapter-self that you have slowly shared with me.

Maude said … I've been lurking for a while and have been really enjoying your blog.

Kacey Leigh said... Freaking hilarious.

thruchildeyes said... You are too funny. I love it.

Sara said … I laughed out loud while reading this.

thruchildeyes said... That is hilarious.

Sara said... This is really fun!

thruchildeyes said... I love this post.

Priss said … “Just wanted to let you know that I am addicted to your blog. You're just sooooo funny.”

thruchildeyes said... That is hilarious. I love the train of comments - makes me feel like part of the family.

Kevin said... you're the devil.

Kacey Leigh said... I am neither time consuming, nor nauseating.

MichaelPolutta said... Every snooze button I have ever had was 9 minutes.

. . . just 18 good reasons you should continue reading my blog. To borrow a couple of lines from Sally Field and the greatest Academy Awards acceptance speech of all time, “You like me. You really like me.”

Thanks for reading. It’s been a fun first year.

testosterone and the 5 love languages . . . . . . . . . . (subtitled: "Them's fightin' words!")

According to Dr. Gary Chapman, there are Five Love Languages:
1) Words of Affirmation
2) Quality Time
3) Receiving Gifts
4) Acts of Service
5) Physical Touch

I would like to add a sixth: Wrestling

This is how "the boys" show their affection for each other.

Yes, this happens daily.

If you don't believe me, notice that Mike's shirts are all different.
(Kevin's are not. He is 15. He owns 25 shirts. He only wears 3 of them.)

Kevin usually initiates the daily wrestling match and then ALWAYS claims, "He started it!"

You will note, however, that Mike is clearly the dominant male and proud of it. (Likely has something to do with the fact that he has a "man truck".)

tuesday top ten . . .

Top 10 Reasons I am a Bad Mother:

10) General response to my own children’s pain and suffering:
“Suck it up, weenie.” If there are no broken bones or blood you aren’t really hurt. (Now, in all fairness to me, I don’t treat anyone else this way, just my kids.)

9) I used to save $12 a month by making Kevin stand in the bathtub in his underwear so I could give him a “my mom cut my hair” haircut. (I'm sure he'll be thrilled I shared that information.)

8) I post embarrassing pictures and blog about embarrassing things my kids do (reference #9). Their humiliation is your entertainment.

7) I used to occasionally send my kids to their room as discipline. “No toys. No music. Just sit on your bed and think about what you’ve done.” Then I would forget about them. Literally. Sometimes a couple of hours would pass and I’d hear this small little “Whoville” voice from the back of the house, “m. . . o. . . m?” Of course, I always played it off as if I’d meant to leave them there. Can’t have my children thinking I’d made a mistake.

6) The words “Me and my friends” will never be uttered from their mouths without some form of chastisement - according to Kevin, I am the Grammar Nazi.

5) My kids are required to make their bed. Every day. I rarely make my bed. Yes, I know. Hypocrite. And up until now you thought I was perfect?

4) When my kids play video/computer games I go behind them and play obsessively until I beat their high scores. Even if it’s a game I don’t like to play. (Ever wonder why my kids are so obnoxiously competitive?)

3) No wire hangers! (Just kidding.) But no play-doh in the house. Ever.

2) When they became “big kids” (around 13), I would try to make them hold my hand when we would go to public places like Wal-Mart. (Which, I might add, they NEVER did.) When they refused to hold my hand, I would sing. Loudly.

. . . and the #1 reason I'm a bad mother:

1) My kids are twitchy. When people move toward them, they flinch like abused puppies ducking a rolled-up newspaper. I’m not sure what this means, but it can’t be good.

i feel the earth move . . .

Maybe the best Carole King song of all time took on a different meaning this morning as the 5.2 earthquake shook me awake. I have experienced so many (having lived in Alaska four year) that now I just enjoy them like a theme park ride. (Envision me lying on my back in bed, arms flung straight up in the air, squealing "wheeeee!"
Now stop. Don't ever envision that again. That was disturbing.)

My first earthquake experience was in the bedroom in Anchorage . . .
wee early morning . . . we didn't know what to think about the shaking until things started falling off the dresser. "Ohhhhh, an EARTHQUAKE!
That was kind of cool!"

The "Big One" was when Kacey was around a year old. My husband was
on his way home, I was standing in our living room on the second floor
of our 3-story condo. If I remember correctly, it was a 7.9 that only lasted a few seconds. Knocked me off my feet and I sat down hard in the floor. He was at a stoplight and thought someone had rear-ended him.
Pretty powerful stuff.

This morning's quake, however, has caused me to reflect on a few, rather serious questions:

1) Should we be more physically prepared for a disaster? Water, food, emergency supplies?

2) Could we be more spiritually prepared for a disaster?

3) In light of the possibility that the house could collapse from same said disaster and rescue workers would have to come dig me out of the rubble, here's the REALLY serious question: Should I contemplate the addition of pajamas to my wardrobe or do I want to be rescued "in the buff"?

Rescue worker: "Don't worry ma'am - we'll have you out of there soon!"
Me (with extreme panic in my voice): "I don't think so! That beam crushing my skull isn't really that painful. I'm just gonna huddle here until somebody brings me a pair of black pants, a sports bra, and a big blanket. But thanks for thinking of me."

Just something I might need to think about.

it's more than just tax day . . .

April 15,1865 President Lincoln shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford's Theater
April 15, 1912 Titanic sank

April 15, 1913 Date implemented as the day income taxes were due.

April 15, 1955 Ray Kroc starts McDonald's chain of fast food restaurants

April 15, 1983 Tokyo Disneyland opens

April 15, 2005 Mike & Sara showed up at the front door of our church building on a Friday afternoon for their interview.

See. . . and you thought this was just "tax day"!

... . . . . . . . . . . (Click on the picture to appreciate the close-up version!)

What the french, toast?

Kacey was home this weekend. Kevin got up early on Sunday morning and made his sister french toast.

I would just like to point out that he has never made me toast of any nationality.

How about Chinese gymnasts as bridesmaids?

Kacey's wedding is the night of the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. She has decided to walk down the aisle to the official Olympic theme music while carrying a torch. (Of course, she is already carrying a torch for Nathan, so I guess there is double symbolism there.)

Pass the Purina - Have you noticed the latest trend in pet food for dogs and cats? Veggies. Yep. All the best brands are advertising "healthy ingredients" for Fido and Fluffy. That's good I think, because I worry our cat is getting too much protein. I always feel sorry that once she has slaughtered a big fat mouse for her entree it always takes her so long to put together a good salad to go with it. SHEESH!

540 Seconds

I don't use my snooze alarm for four reasons:

1) It's rude to the other person/persons sleeping in your room who may not feel the need to awaken at the same designated time as you.

2) My internal clock is frighteningly accurate.

3) I really don't sleep after 5:45 anymore anyway (I'm not happy about it, but apparently it's my 40-something-year-old body's way of telling me my time is limited and I better make the most of the days I have left.)
and
4) I think the snooze alarm is the ultimate sign of procrastination. "Nope, not yet. I'll get up later." If you can afford to get up later, why not just set your alarm for the later time to begin with???? However, I went back to sleep this morning for a little nap and set my alarm. When the church bells began to sound (yes, that's the sound of my alarm clock), I hit the snooze.

All that to ask this: Why is my snooze alarm time only nine minutes?

the Tuesday ten

I never actually talk on my cell phone. I am not a phone person. I wish I could explain it - I love email, face-to-face conversation, and of course, texting. I only used 16 of my "anytime minutes" this entire last month. (And I'm fairly certain all of those were used placing take-out orders!) However, according to AT&T's records, I did send over 1000 text messages. Yeah, I know. Reeediculous. Sometimes when the cowboy's work schedule doesn't allow us a "girls' night", Sara and I will spend an entire night hanging out via texting. Can't seem to help myself - I think I may need a good therapist. As I scan through my phone, I'm reluctant to delete some of my texts. They serve as a journal of sorts, taking me back to conversations, events, and even jokes that I don't want to forget!

Ten Text Types

1. Teen text shortcuts - I frequently get the following words and phrases from some of my favorite teens, Emily S. and my niece Lindsay: Ure (you're), 2moro (tomorrow), j/k (just kidding), ILU (I love you), 4get, CU L8er, and my favorite: "I lol so hard, I have TIME" (I Laughed Out Loud so hard, I have Tears In My Eyes.)

I spell everything in the the Queen's English and include all forms of appropriate punctuation and capitalization = I am a nerd.

2. Prescriptive text faux pas - Sara texted about her "fish wager" not working. FISH WAGER? Turns out, "fish wager" should actually have been "dishwasher".

3. Traveling texts (or, what happens when you text one-handed and don't proofread) - From me to Mike: “. . . one more big push tonight and get the numour kidneys.” I have no idea what I was trying to say. Neither did he. His response: "Oh really? Well spurlot hashbrowns en tu coconut!"

4. Texts taken out of context - "We are drooling waiting for you." (That could mean so many fun things. . . just turns out I was late meeting Mike & Sara for sushi and they REALLY like sushi!)

5. Texts from two people sharing the same brain waves - Kacey on the return drive from New Orleans: "Alabama! I broke my toe!" To which I responded - "Oklahoma! I ate fried rice!" I think you had to be there for that one.

6. Texts with dangling participles - From Mike at Winterfest: ". . . can you get me a bag or something when you go down to the lobby for my wet clothes?" I didn't go to the lobby for his wet clothes. I was never planning to go to the lobby for his wet clothes. Had I gone to the lobby, I don't believe I would have discovered his wet clothes.

7. Blank texts - I send a LOT of them. Apparently, I have a difficult time distinguishing the "send" button from the "back" button on my pretty little red Nokia phone. I have the same problem telling my left hand from my right. I like to think it's a genius flaw. :o)

8. Wrongly directed texts - from Mike to me: "I'm thinking I want to come home". While he's welcome in my home anytime, I'm pretty sure that text was meant for Sara!

9. Fewer words are better texts - From Sara: "It's Monday!" Translation: Are you aware that today is Monday? This means we are going out to lunch together as usual, right? Does 11:45 work for you? Are you in the mood for chinese, mexican, J's, or maybe just pizza? Do you want to meet me there? Are we bringing "the boys" along with us or is it just going to be us girls? "It's Monday" implies it all!

10. Less personal texts - "Bless you" (from me to Mike upon hearing him sneeze through our conjoined office wall.) His response: "We are going to have less and less human contact, aren't we?"

Of course - isn't that the point to texting - so we don't have to actually talk?

my two "scents" worth

A few months back, Mike preached an interactive sermon on smelling
like God. (Don't ask - you really had to be here!) So, to prepare for the interactive part, we collected several "scents" - hickory smoke, popcorn, vanilla, mint, and apple/cinnamon, just to name a few. Somehow, the apple/cinnamon one ended up leaking in my desk and in the backseat of my car, and for weeks the odeur of artificial fruit pie permeated my office and my vehicle. At first it was overwhelming, but day by day the stench became a scent became just a lingering olfactory reminder of a pretty decent, and fairly memorable sermon.

Yesterday, Kevin opened my desk door, and
out wafted that familiar apple/cinnamon smell, to which I commented, "My desk still smells like God". Kevin took a big whiff and claimed,
"I'm really glad Mike didn't preach about
smelling like sheep."

Yeah, me too.

may the horse be with you . . . 'cause the cat sure ain't

My husband is mad at our cat. I'm talking livid. Curiosity better move over, ‘cause the cowboy is first in line. You see, when he went out to feed the horses, the cat dared to not give him the time of day. Snubbed him, you might say. (Never mind this IS a cat and that’s sorta their nature!)

The cowboy thinks all living beings can be trained like horses and should be submissive when called upon to do so (including me . . . but that’s a WHOLE ‘nuther blog!)

Hubby is what equine savvy people call a “horse whisperer”. He first began this undertaking when his patience level defined him as more of a “horse yeller”, but in the past few years he has actually gotten pretty good at the whole "breaking wild mustangs" thing. (Ironically, I always wanted a mustang too - just one from 1967 with a red exterior. Sigh . . . )

Anyway, I digress. Because the cowboy can take an unbroken mustang and have him eating out of his hand, sometimes in a matter of minutes, he believes he should be able to do this with all living creatures.

Our cat disagrees.

I’m eager to see who wins this battle.

it's lonely when all your friends jump off the bridge . . .

My daughter is texting me with vast quantities of wedding questions because she is bored in her Shakespeare class. (How is that POSSIBLE???? Is she not her mother's child? I LOVE Shakepeare!) Anyway, she is getting on my nerves, so I am going to blog about her.

The age-old question parents ask: "Why did you DO that???" To which the child replies: "I dunno. But everybody else was." Parental wisdom: "If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?"

The answer is yes. For both my children. But for different reasons. Neither of my kids are followers, neither would jump just because everybody else did, but boy are they both competitive!!!! (Where do they get this???)

For the purposes of the following comparison, we will assume here that bridge-jumping is not fatal, but merely stupid.

Here's how Kacey would jump: Everybody else has decided to jump. She runs to be the first in line, because she will not be outdone. She runs to make an instant jump - except . . . she is afraid of heights. Now she is standing on the edge of the bridge having second thoughts, as everyone else pushes by her and jumps, but doggone it, she has already decided to jump and she WILL NOT change her mind. After much internal debate and determination, and more than just a few tears, she jumps - not because anybody else did or didn't, but because she decided to, and for Kacey, making the decision is biggest battle. (This is my theory as to why she waited so long to go out with Nathan and why she said "yes" so quickly. She knows that once she makes up her mind, that's it, no matter what.)

Here's how Kevin would jump: He will stand at the bottom of the bridge and watch everyone else jump. He will critique their styles and methods, heckle them as they fall, and think through all the pros and cons of bridge-jumping. After everyone else has jumped and gone away, he will assemble the needed supplies and fortitude, climb the bridge and jump - with no one else watching. Then, of course, he will brag about how much better he did it than everyone else with no way to prove himself. (This is pretty much how he has done everything else in his life from potty-training to swimming to tying his shoes to reading to . . . you name it!)

I just read this post to Kevin and he laughed hysterically all the way through it. He knows it is so true!

waxing rhapsodic

I love my baby boy. Adore. After giving it some thought since yesterday, I MIGHT adopt the "Love You Forever" ideology and strap a ladder to the top of my car so I can climb into Kevin's dorm room and cuddle him in his sleep. (Of course, this won't happen until he turns 18 or until I decide to let him leave home, whichever comes first!)

So, he has a "girlfriend". They are "going out". Now, what this means is they decided they each think the other one is cute. I have to admit, the whole situation is cute. I also have to admit, I'm enjoying posting this because his sister doesn't know about "the girlfriend" and she is generally the first one to know such things! (Ha, Kacey - that's what you get for being out of the country!) I'm not going to post the girlfriend's name, as I want his sister to call and find out!

All that to say this: He is growing up. I miss when he was little. I miss when he was 3 and I would say, "Kevin, come whisper sweet things in mommy's ear" and he would crawl into my lap and whisper in my ear, "Fweet things, Mommy." I miss when he called the utility room the "Titilly" and when caterpillars were still "calepittars". I miss him sleeping in our bed. But Thursday night, I got to relive just a bit of it. After we watched "Lost" together, he got his iPod, sat on my lap, stuck his green jelly earbuds in my ears, and spent 45 minutes playing songs for me he thought I would like - sitting in my lap the whole time. I enjoyed singing out loud with the earbuds, because they make me sound GREAT in my own head! At the end of our 45 minutes, I made him put in the earbuds and I selected Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" (a favorite of this former clarinet player), and I scratched his back while he got a new lesson in music appreciation. All in all, not a bad way to spend 3/4 of an hour.

Lest you think it was all sweet and heartfelt, Kevin did make note: "Mom, just because you sound great in your own head when you sing out loud, doesn't mean you REALLY sound that great." Teenagers. Gotta love 'em.

Wal-Mart Haiku

Shopping cart is full

Twenty-eight check-out lanes tease

Only six ever open

the lovely girls of delta xi and one handsome devil

My daughter's club is currently pledging, and I have become the recipient of some pledge duties this week. Pledge Ariel has become Kacey's "My Mom has a Cell Phone" pledge. Ariel has had to call me several times to tell me I'm beautiful and to ask me random personal questions. (What is your job like? How many times have you moved? Why is Kacey jealous of your cell phone? That sort of thing.) Pledge Katie called today and asked to speak with Kevin - she had several questions to ask him regarding numbers (his age, his favorite number, etc.). Pledge Kayce called to introduce herself as my daughter's "Little Sister" (Does that make me her honorary mother? I hope they don't start sending me tuition bills.) They have all called with instructions from my daughter to tell me one fact:

MY SON IS A HANDSOME DEVIL.

Well, I think so, and apparently so does his sister. The photos, I think, speak for themselves . . .

WARNING: fluorescent lights are hazardous to your self-esteem

Terrell came in to my office earlier today so we could work on some worship stuff. We finished talking and he just sat here for awhile. After a few minutes he said, "What is it about your office that makes people want to come in here and stay?" I took that as a compliment. Now, I'd like to think that it's my company that makes people want to hang out, but truthfully, I think it is because I have sage green walls and four lamps that light the room with warm incandescent lighting. It gives you, to quote the Eagles, a "peaceful, easy feeling". Maybe too peaceful and easy judging from the photos, but still, a welcome change from the "slap-you-in-the-face" overhead fluorescents in most offices. Fluorescent lighting should be illegal. Come on, if they can enact a smoking ban in every public building in the country because it's hazardous to your health, then can't they do the same to fluorescents because they're hazardous to your self-esteem???

At least they should offer a disclaimer like Dairy Queen does with peanuts.

WARNING: This establishemnt uses fluorescent lighting. Once you enter the premises you will appear hideous. Your skin will become blotchy, all cellulite will be painfully obvious, the low, dull buzzing will leave you with a migraine, and your pants and socks will no longer match even though they looked fine in your bedroom this morning.

Yes, I know fluorescents are a "greener" more environmentally friendly choice, but if that is our reasoning, then I vote for candles. Who doesn't look better in candlelight?

amendment to my so-called funny life

Okay, so I tell stories the way I remember them. It's my blog. It's my reality. I like it that way! But it's been suggested I need to amend some of yesterday's stories, so here goes:

Re: the Godzilla sushi story. There was no actual oozing of rice and avacado. That line was for comedic effect.

Re: The dog jokes. They're all true. When Kevin was getting into the shower he said, "I'm going to wash myself now." I said, "Don't get a fur ball."

Re: The sesame chicken slime-fest and chase scene. I was reminded that my precious baby Kevin was guilty of holding Mike's arms behind him, enabling Sara to smear Mike's face. Hence the need for Kevin to barracade himself in the room with Sara. The rest about the chasing and running and squealing is all true, and gets funnier every time I replay it in my head, which is much more entertaining than doing co-op lesson plans.

Re: the boy's proposal. My intention was not to shed a "cruel light" on Nathan's proposal. I thought it was brilliant! It was the ONLY way he was going to surprise her and he got her good. Only when she came into the house so solemnly the first time and then he knocked and she went back out, I thought they had gotten into a fight. It was killing me to not snoop or peek out the window when they were standing 15 feet away from me!!!

Re: 70's clothes. I have a slightly wicked sense of humor, but even I am not so cruel as to make Mike wear those Coke pants. He told me yesterday that he didn't think he could pull them off. I had to ask if he meant that literally or figuratively.

my so-called funny life

My son was "Undignified" this morning for the JAM kids. (This means, like David who danced before the Lord in his underwear, my son danced in a similarly undignified manner with Kelly for the elementary school kids today during children's worship). Here is a small clip:

We ate sushi at RuSan's in Nashville on Tuesday. At Kevin's prodding, Mike took on "Godzilla" the giant piece of sushi in one bite. It was uncomfortably enormous for anyone's mouth - even Mike's. It was especially unpleasant when rice and avacado began to ooze out of disgusting places in disgusting ways. Don't try to make a mental picture.

So, ever since the "dog shampoo" incident during last week's communal living, dog jokes about Kevin have been rampant. On the same day as the Godzilla sushi occurrence, Mike was dancing in the car. Kevin alluded to Mike's dancing looking more like siezures than choreography and asked Mike if he needed something to bite down on. Mike said he would just bite down on one of Kevin's chew toys! Then, on a snow day as I was watching all the school closings on the news, I decided we would officially change the name of our homeschool from "Reynolds Academy" to "Reynolds Obedience and Training School." Now, if we could only get him housebroken . . .

ReighAnne is not happy with me because I put this picture of her on the screen at church this morning. Tonight she mumbled something about setting cats on fire in my front yard and tapeworm eggs in my coffee . . . she says I should know better than to get on the bad side of a biologist. Frankly, I'm more than a little scared. (I love you, ReighAnne!)

On Thursday night we were finishing up at the office and deciding what to do for the evening. We decided on sesame chicken and "Lost". At this point we are still at the office. Greg has just left our house for his 20-min drive to work, it is raining and beginning to freeze outside, so the roads are getting nasty. I sent Kevin out to start the car. He did. From the passenger side. Then he locked it and came back inside. Yep. He LOCKED it, and came back inside. So now we are locked out of my car, the car is running, and the nearest set of extra keys is 30+ minutes away. Thanks to Sara, she took me to meet Greg and all that we lost was 45 minutes and a quarter tank of gas. (I suspect Kevin did it on purpose so I wouldn't make him go out in the cold to start the car anymore!)

Same Thursday night, sesame chicken was acquired and consumed, except for the smudge of brown syrupy sesame goo that Sara smeared on Mike's face. What followed was an all out game of chase between Sara and Mike, with ketchup bottle in hand, bent on revenge. It would be okay to make a mental picture of this one, 'cause it was too funny to watch them chase each other AROUND and AROUND and AROUND the kitchen, squealing (Okay, Sara was the only one squealing, Mike was just laughing!) and stopping only to catch their breath and change direction. Sara barracaded herself in the guest bedroom with Kevin until the coast cleared. Really wish you could have been there. (Though after today's post, they may not allow ME to be there anymore . . .)

Saturday night my daughter suspected she was getting an engagement ring. She was told to "dress up" and Nathan took her to diFratelli's. He didn't give her a ring. She thought maybe afterward they would drive down to the riverfront and he would propose there. He didn't. She thought mabye he would stop at the church building on the way home and give her the ring there. He didn't. He brought her home. He said goodnight. She came into the house almost in tears because she was so sure and she was so disappointed. Just as she was about to lose her composure, Nathan knocked on the door. When she opened it, he was down on one knee on our front porch. Needless to say, she got a ring. A GORGEOUS princess-cut sapphire ring, which is what she has always wanted.

Greg came in from work this morning at 6 at told me he was going on a geology expedition. Mind you, it's early and I'm still in bed. "What did you say?" "I'm going to do some geology work," he said. I still didn't get it. "HUH???" I said as I raised up slightly and made an expression that I feel is largely responsible for the wrinkles that are appearing on my face now. He said, "I'm - going - to - see - the - rock - on - my - daughter's - hand". Ohhhhh, geology work. Now I get it. I decided I needed to sleep a few more minutes.

I am enjoying scouring eBay for 70's clothes for Mikey to wear in the Paducah Follies show next month. These are some of my favorites:

Now if I can only find a wide-lapel, orange scenic-print polyester shirt . . .

microwave by candlelight

My parents got a new vehicle. It is white. Kevin told them they couldn't drive it after Labor Day.

My daughter has some exciting job prospects . . . she is "stoked" about the possibilities! Thanks to her wonderful boy for doing a Target run last night to buy her a portfolio and resume paper.

We have been without power since about 3 a.m. I am hoping by the time I get home this afternoon I will not have to use the microwave by candlelight!

Terrell just called and told me to "go home". He said the roads are getting bad, so for once, I might actually listen to him!

not exactly an open book

There's a difference between being close to someone and being open with them. With the exception of 2 or 3 people, I don't think I'm very good at either one. I attribute this to losing my very best friend - twice - the guy I planned to marry (due to bad communication and impatience on my part), and my sister a few years ago in a car wreck. Add to that the fact that we moved a lot when I was a kid. Between kindergarten and high school, I went to 8 different schools. But I never minded that part. Mom and Dad always made moving an adventure.

New houses, new schools, new friends. What this managed to accomplish, personality-wise, is that I make friends easily. Surface friends. Friendly friends. I'm really good with the "meet and greet" stuff. The "Hi, how are ya?" stuff. The talk-to-the-lady-in-front-of-me-in-the-check-out-lane stuff.

What I'm not so good with is the
"Here's Who I Am" stuff. The "Being Real" stuff. The "Sharing a Few Deeper Paragraphs" stuff. I'm quasi-terrified of being perceived as needy - mostly because it contradicts my whole facade of being independent - but also because I don't ever want to be one of those people who are draining.

Besides, doing the whole "Open Book" thing always makes me cry. ALWAYS. And I HATE to cry. Really I do. (My kids will never believe this, they think I actually enjoy crying over kleenex commercials and sappy love songs and roadkill puppies. I don't.)

Anyway . . . It's not really that I'm afraid people won't love me. I'm a pretty accepting person, so I assume most other people are too. It's that I'm afraid I will love them and then they will leave me. That's the part I've never really learned how to deal with.

On the plus side, God knows all my junk and He's not going anywhere.
I find enormous comfort in that.

Intelligent??? Meme (at Janice's request)

1. Visual/Spatial

(I LOVE to draw house plans.
Been doing it for years.

I have a theory as to why,
but that's fodder for another blog . . . )

2. Verbal/linguistic

(Any Monty Python quote will work, but I chose this one:)

King - Please! Please good people! I am in haste. Who lives in that castle?

Peasant 1 - No one lives there.

King - Then who is your lord?

Peasant 1 - We don't have a lord.

King - What?

Peasant 2 - I told you, we're an anarco-syndicalist commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the week. But all the decisions of that officer must be ratified at a special bi-weekly meeting; by a simple majority in the case of purely internal affairs-

King - Be quiet!

Peasant 2 - but by a two-thirds majority in the case of more serious-

King - Be quiet! I order you to be quiet!

Peasant 1 - Order, eh? Who does he think he is? Ha!

King - I am your king!

Peasant 1 - Well I didn't vote for you.

(from Monty Python and the Holy Grail)

3. Musical/Rhythmical (A tribute to the 70's, Simon & Garfunkel, my tendency to be a snob about music and to have passed that snobbery on to my children, and playing & teaching piano)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8QY2wCbijU

4. Bodily/Kinesthetic
(A hot bath,
a good book,
and some quiet time . . .
does this count?)

5. Interpersonal (Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens . . . these pictures are a few of my favorite social things!)

. . . . . . . . .

6. Intrapersonal
MY attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant . . .

7. Naturalistic

The only thing that came to mind, after much consideration was when I was pregnant with Kevin and planning a homebirth. My mom was invited to be part of it, but was encouraged to voice her reservations before the due date. Knowing that we were avid recyclers and "green" thinkers, mom called one day and asked, "Will you have an actual PLASTIC bag to throw away the placenta after the birth?" (I think I gave her some story about burying it under a tree in the backyard and dancing in the moonlight.) I don't know why, but of all the things she could have been concerned about a home birth, this was her one and only reservation. Still makes me laugh.

8. Logical-Mathematical
"You get a penny for your thoughts but you have to put your two cents in, somebody’s making a penny."

OR

Einstein's riddle (This is the first logic problem I ever did. Worked it with my dad. Been hooked on them ever since.)

There are 5 houses in 5 different colors. In each house lives a person with a different nationality. The 5 owners drink a certain type of beverage, smoke a certain brand of cigar, and keep a certain pet. No owners have the same pet, smoke the same brand of cigar, or drink the same beverage.Somebody owns a fish. The question is: who? Hints:
The Brit lives in the red house.
The Swede keeps dogs as pets.
The Dane drinks tea.
The green house is on the left and next to the white house.
The green homeowner drinks coffee.
The person who smokes Pall Mall rears birds.
The owner of the yellow house smokes Dunhill.
The man living in the center house drinks milk.
The Norwegian lives in the first house.
The man who smokes Blends lives next to the one who keeps cats.
The man who keeps the horse lives next to the man who smokes Dunhill.
The owner who smokes Bluemaster drinks beer.
The German smokes Prince.
The Norwegian lives next to the blue house.
The man who smokes Blends has a neighbor who drinks water.

selling my youngest-born

insurance company has assured us that if we don't put a new roof on our house, and fast, they are going to drop us: $2000+

car has been in the shop since last Thursday. I am selling my youngest-born to get it back: $1786.97 + new tires $350

picture tube on our tv went out. Jack and Kate faded to black and were . . . LOST. Price for new pretty 42" one at Sam's club: $1200 - 1600

Having sushi in Nashville tomorrow: priceless.

he used to sound like Minnie Mouse

I didn't want a boy. Boys are loud and smelly and like sports and fighting and they almost never look right in sundresses. But, thankfully, God knew what I needed more than I did. Anyway, today my baby is 15. Fif-stinking-teen. I am having a hard time with this one. Maybe it's because this year he looks his age. Maybe it's because he is getting tall. Maybe it's because he is shaving. Maybe it's because he likes girls now. Maybe it's because he has a definitive baritone voice (which still freaks me out a little when I talk to him on the phone, as he used to sound like Minnie Mouse.) Maybe it's because I don't see how it's possible for him to be 15 when I'm still 25. Okay, so 25 with several year's experience . . . anyway . . .

He is the best kid. Really. Not a perfect one. He's king of comebacks, his handwriting is atrocious, and . . . well, I'm sure there is SOMETHING else. BUT: He is sweet. He is witty and FUNNY! He is thoughtful. He is not afraid of anything. He is easy to get along with. He is not a follower. He is a great worker. He NEVER complains. (This is my favorite "Kevin" quality! No matter what I ask him to do, he is more than willing to do it, and only occasionally does he roll his eyes at me!) He loves to read. He's smart. We like the same stuff, so he's fun to hang out with. (Except for sushi and Hobby Lobby - I said he's not perfect!)

Kevin is an "all or nothing" kind of guy. Always has been. He is not interested in doing something until he can do it right. It's an interesting personality trait, as it is completely opposite from his sister who will jump in and try anything and keep trying until she gets it. Kevin waits until he thinks he can master it, then he jumps in and does. He learned to read that way. Wasn't interested in learning at all, then one day we picked up a book and he said, "Oh, so you just make the letter sounds and put them together." By the end of the day he was reading on his own. Learned to tie his shoes in 5 minutes. Learned to swim in even less. The list goes on and on, but you get the idea. He won't be the first kid to jump in, but when he finally does, he'll do it right.

Kevin, you make my life joyful. I am so proud of the child you have been, the young man that you are, and the godly man you are quickly becoming.
I continue to pray that you keep your eyes on God and that He blesses you beyond what you can even imagine! Have a wonderful birthday - I love you more than life!

right below hugs & kisses

Kacey bought me a beautiful hardback copy of "Anna Karenina" for Christmas. It's the book I was reading during the last trimester of my pregnancy with her, and because it is a LONG Russian novel, it carried over into the first couple of months of her post-womb life as well. And, because I'm the amazing mother that I am (choke, gasp, cough), I of course, read the entire book out loud. No small feat for Tolstoy, not to mention that fact that for the first half of the book I was reading "alone" in the room. I never reallly did get used to doing that - always felt weird. Anyway . . .

Around month 2, I began reading books more geared to her level of appreciation. Lucky for Kacey (and for me!), my sister was taking a Children's Literature class at Harding at the same time. Every time Stacey & I talked, she would recount all the wonderful stories they were reading in class. (I'm sure there was a bit more to the class than reading children's books, but that's the only part that was important to me!) Then I would head straight to the nearest bookstore and buy every one of them. That was definitely one of my favorite parts of being a mom - reading aloud. Ranks right below hugs & kisses, and right above tickling. I would dare say there was never a day from before Kacey was born until Kevin was 10 or 11 that I didn't read out loud - with the rare exception of my having a sore throat or their being at Nana's house. And since now both my kids would rather read than do just about anything else, I guess it paid off. I miss it, though. I do still read to my high school co-op students. They like it, plus I get to say that, at 14, I still read aloud to Kevin. I'm sure he loves that.

grasping at air

Maybe you can relate: The gear shift in my car in located on the steering column. I guess most are. After you drive a vehicle for awhile, it just becomes natural to reach for the right side of the steering column when you put your car into gear. But every now and then I find myself driving a vehicle with a center console gear shift (usually my mom's Jeep). Anyway, I always reach for the steering column when I start to drive and end up grasping at air and feeling silly. Ironically, I only have to drive the Jeep for a day or two for the reverse to happen. I get back into my own car, turn the key, reach for the non-existent console gear shift, and knock over a bottle of water in the cup holder instead. Okay, so it's just habit and it makes me feel a little silly, but it's not really a big deal.

However, the same problem exists with other items like my curling iron. I use it every day. Keep it plugged in to the same spot. Can curl my hair in 3 minutes flat, almost without looking. I hold the curling iron in my right hand, lift a section of hair with the left, clamp the iron around the end (again with my right hand), and hold the very tip of the curling iron with my left hand as I wind my hair. Fine. Occasionally, however, I use a straightener. Same basic motion, except you start at the roots instead of the ends, and with the straightener you don't hold the tip - you grab both sides as you pull it firmly down through your hair. Again, fine. Until I have used the straightener for a day or two and then go back to the curling iron. You really shouldn't firmly grab both sides of a curling iron at any point in the process. Unless, of course, you are a masochist.

Just an observation and a life lesson I thought I'd pass along.

Jamaican Me Crazy!

It was one of those Friday nights back in October when I really needed to be with friends. It had been a really awful couple of months and I was just beginning to recover. I don't remember everyone who was present, but I do know Rob & ReighAnne and Mike & Sara were among the few. It started out as a "scrapbooking" night, but turned into a great night of conversation . . . and coffee. "Jamaican Me Crazy" from Kirchhoff's to be exact. We were standing around ReighAnne's little kitchen, everyone holding a mug - except me. I made a pouty lip and whined about feeling left out, so Sara grabbed a mug, poured me a cup, and handed it to me just so I would feel included. I stood there, holding the warm ceramic mug between my palms, knowing that if I wasn't careful I would forget that what I was holding was coffee and take a sip. Being the good friend that she is, and apparently knowing this as well, Sara proceeded to add creamer to my coffee "just in case". Once seated back around the dining room table, engaged in a church discussion, I did take a sip. And another. And then another. Since then I have enjoyed Kringle Krunch and Snickerdoodle (both at the Seifert's), and a single shot caramel latte from Kirchhoff's (Kacey says it's sissy coffee, but still . . . )

Sara gave me a pound of "Jamaican Me Crazy" for Christmas. I bought filters, hazelnut creamer and a thermos mug. I am officially caffeinated. There's no going back now.

dirty santa and the great mystery

The way I see it there are three good gift types:
1. Something you need that you can't afford. (Furniture; new car tires; stainless steel cookware; etc.)
2. Something frivolous you love that you would not likely buy for yourself. ($100 hurricane lamp; rabbit-lined leather gloves; 600-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets)
3. Something fun that suits your personality and interests. (video games; cds; a $15 cinnamon lipgloss; restaurant gift certificates; scrapbooking supplies; et. al.)

This leads me to question the "Dirty Santa" game that we played with my husband's family on Christmas Eve. The girls were to bring a girl gift, the guys were to bring a guy gift. The girl stuff ranged from a Bed, Bath & Beyond gift card to lotion to chocolate to a journal to earrings. No problem. It is the guy stuff that perplexes me. The gifts were as follows: Electrical tape; Duct tape; garden hose roll-up thingy; plastic rain gauge; wrench; box cutter; a dozen pairs of work gloves; and various colors of plastic cable ties. Seriously. And they grappled over these things like toddlers fighting over the last cookie! Now, I gave this some thought. If this was a girl gift, the equivalent would look something like: A travel sewing kit; box of safety pins; nail clippers; twelve pairs of yellow playtex dishwashing gloves; spatula; a curling iron caddy; and an old lady clear-plastic rain bonnet. Am I the only one who sees the humor in this? These are not gifts. I'm convinced these are the purchases of 5 men who do not have a clue how to shop and were equally relieved that none of the other guys knew how to shop either.

Gift cards make sense to me. Big boy toys I can appreciate. Electronic gadgets I understand. Game systems I even like myself. But plastic cable ties remain a mystery to me.

Darlings by Design

Okay, just for fun, I'm changing the picture. Sara shot so many great pictures (of course, with the help of her lovely and talented assistant . . . ) that I can't pick a favorite "real" photo.
This one, however, is truly my favorite:

possible excuses why I haven't blogged for the past week . . .

*My life is incredibly boring.
*My life is incredibly fascinating, you know, working with Mikey and
Terrell everyday, and I just don't want to make the rest of you envious.
*I've actually been sleeping all night long for the last month, so there
are 3 fewer blogging hours in my day than normal.
*I've been seriously contemplating purchasing a water buffalo. No joke.
*I don't have any cool illness, depression, finals, engaged friends, or pregnancy to blog about.
*I don't want to post pictures of myself from 10-20-30 years ago. That would make me have to admit how old I am then I WOULD be depressed! (Though Sandy looks as beautiful now as she did at 18! I hate her.)
*I'm not obsessing about what I didn't get done yesterday.
*I'm not obsessing about what I'm not going to get done tomorrow.
*I'm not obsessing about what I'm going to do for the rest of my life.
(And neither should my daughter . . . )
*Is anybody out there REALLY interested in what font I decided to use for the church letterhead? I think not. (But, if you are: sylfaen. It looks nice if you emboss it in 18 font, though the embossing tends to blur on the smaller font, especially since I have to set the leading at 14 for 11 font. Fascinating, huh?)
*I'm not lavishly visiting/vacationing Evansville or any variety of exotic Texas cities.
*I feel guilty blogging when I should be Christmas shopping.
*I have writer's block.
*The cat ate my mouse.

I didn't say they were good excuses . . .